


since that encounter

by Nonymos



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (sort of), Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Demon Bucky Barnes, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Janitor Steve Rogers, M/M, Magical Realism, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Some depictions of violence, Tiny Bit of Horror, liminal spaces, since that encounter steve’s life has never known peace, the following day bucky started manifesting in his house physically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 20:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11387349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonymos/pseuds/Nonymos
Summary: Some emissary of darkness has been following Steve Rogers around to steal his eternal soul. Even for a demon,that'splaying with fire.





	since that encounter

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [С той самой встречи](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11696661) by [fandom_EvanstanStarbucks_2017](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_EvanstanStarbucks_2017/pseuds/fandom_EvanstanStarbucks_2017), [fata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fata/pseuds/fata)
  * Translation into 中文 available: [Since That Encounter/自从遇见你](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12235575) by [Oxycontin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oxycontin/pseuds/Oxycontin)
  * Inspired by [Let's Make a Deal](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/304128) by Comedic Drama. 



> Hello, new and old readers! I'm _so_ excited to get this fic out there! It's been a while since I wrote a one-shot, and I had way too much fun doing this one. ^^
> 
> This is my second entry for the Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2017. The art is by the wonderful [Comedic Drama](http://archiveofourown.org/users/comedicdrama). Thanks to Cristinuke and Alby Mangroves for beta and cheering!

 

 

 

 

 

Steve’s reflection stared back at him from the Plexiglas door.

The buzz of the neon lights overhead was drilling through his brain. One of them was blinking irregularly, with a tiny cold noise.

Steve rubbed his face with a sigh. It was four am. 24/7 grocery stores never seemed to help with his insomnia; if anything, they made the dissociation worse.

 _C’mon, Rogers, pick one._ He stared at the frozen pizzas again. They all seemed equally unappealing.

“Can’t choose?”

Steve was so dazed he didn’t even startle, just looked over his shoulder. The man was as tall, tan and handsome as Steve was small, pale and spindly. He was smiling a great bright smile, with something hungry in it.

Also, he was wearing sunglasses. At night. In the frozen foods aisle.

 _Douchebag,_ thought Steve.

“Pepperoni’s a classic,” said the man. “Or so I hear.”

Steve went back to staring at his frozen reflection. Hopefully the guy would take the hint and leave him alone with his fatigue.

“You know what?” _Persistent asshole._ “I hear that when you can’t take your pick for menial stuff, it’s because you’ve got a bigger dilemma on your mind.”

“Seems you hear a lot of things,” Steve mumbled.

He shouldn’t have acknowledged him. In the translucent glass, the man’s grin got even wider, and more than a little disturbing.

“Seems you can hear _me,”_ he said. “I was starting to get worried.”

He must be a dealer of some kind. Steve wasn’t delusional enough to believe he was being propositioned.

“I don’t wanna buy anything.”

“You don’t even know what I’m selling.”

“I’m not interested.”

The man kept smiling fixedly. His sunglasses caught the blinking neon light.

“Think about what you want,” he said. “Think long and hard about it. And then I’ll be back.”

Just like that he spun on his heel and left. Steve was too relieved by his departure to question anything he’d said. At least this creep had made him realize he’d been standing there long enough. He sighed, then rolled open the door and picked pepperoni.

 

*

 

August in Jersey was sweltering. Steve had been hired to clean up Lehigh High, which everybody just called Lehigh because whoever had named the school had obviously been stoned out of their mind. The inside of the building was slightly cooler than Steve’s tiny apartment, which wasn’t saying much.

The long, sticky hallways seemed to stretch into infinity. Nothing broke the heavy silence, save from the trickling noise of the dirty water in Steve’s bucket. He had two weeks to mop the floors, so he wasn’t in a hurry.

He’d peeled his jumpsuit down to the belt and tied the sleeves around his waist so he wouldn’t be as hot. All the same, his white t-shirt clung to his skin with sweat. He regularly took a drink from the water fountains so the students wouldn’t find his desiccated corpse next to the science class skeleton come September.

“Hey.”

Steve looked up, blinking. At the end of the hallway, Sunglasses Guy was giving him a big white grin.

“What the hell,” Steve mumbled, unconsciously raising his mop.

“Pretty much, yeah.”

He was wearing a leather jacket and didn’t seem even close to heatstroke. Not a hair out of place, either.

“Excuse me,” said Steve, louder. “You can’t be here.”

The man looked at himself as if to confirm the physical existence of his body. “Obviously I _can_.”

“School’s out, you can drop the semantics.” Steve was gripping his mop tight now. “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

The man started walking towards him at a leisurely pace. “Did you do as I said? Think about what you want?”

“Sir, don’t make me call the police.”

“I mean, if I were _you,_ I’d be wanting for a lot of things.”

Steve’s mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

“Come on, pal.” The man stopped right in front of Steve. “Look at how you’re spending your summer. You’re not exactly living the dream.”

“Fuck you,” Steve said. He was going to get beaten up, but he didn’t even care. “It’s an honest job. If you don’t like it, you’re free to walk away.”

“Ah, but I’m really not.” He smiled again and tilted his head to the side. “You want something. You want it deep in your heart of hearts, Stevie, and that’s why I’m here.”

Steve took a step back. If this guy had gone as far as to find out his name, then he was in bigger trouble than he thought.

“What do you want?” he asked tightly.

“I just told you! It’s about what _you_ want.” The guy shook his head. “Look, this’ll make it easier.”

And he took off his sunglasses.

Steve knew then that he wasn’t in trouble. He was catastrophically beyond that.

Because either he’d just gone insane, or he hadn’t—and both possibilities were equally disastrous in wildly different manners. Either way, the man’s eyes were glowing red, without even whites or pupils. All red, like they were filled with burning blood.

He smiled with the corner of his mouth, then put his sunglasses back on. “I’m Bucky. That’s not my real name, of course.”

“That’s a relief, then,” Steve’s mouth answered on its own while his brain tried to reboot, “because it’s really stupid.”

Bucky barked a laugh. “I meant, you can do way too much with someone’s real name. So it’s better to guard it.”

Steve had been wearing his nametag in the frozen foods aisle the other day. He was wearing it now. “Guess it’s too late for me.”

“Guess so.”

There was a silence.

“Are you going to kill me?” Steve asked, trying to keep a steady voice. “Because if you are, I’d like it if we could go somewhere else. There’ll be kids here come fall.”

It was hard to tell, but Bucky seemed to blink behind his sunglasses. Then he gathered himself and smirked again. “No, that’s not it.”

“Then—” Steve forced the overheated gears to turn in his brain.

_You don’t even know what I’m selling._

_It’s about what you want._

He wrinkled his nose. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Bucky grinned.

“With the souls and the… Like Faust?”

“Exactly like Faust.”

Steve still didn’t know for sure if he’d gone insane, but he did feel pretty disappointed. It must have shown on his face, because Bucky’s smile dimmed a little. “What?”

“I don’t know. It’s kinda lame.”

 _“What?”_ Bucky didn’t get pissed off like a demon, with rising flames and extending shadows—he got pissed off like a douchebag in sunglasses, throwing his hands in the air. “How is that _lame?_ The underworld is real and it’s coming for you! Eternal damnation and stuff!”

“You’re not selling it very well,” Steve said, leaning on his mop.

“Don’t you laugh at me, pal. You obviously know the drill. I’m offering to grant you a wish, here!”

“No thanks.”

Bucky stopped. Then he pasted his trademark grin back on. “They all say that at first. But you’ll come around.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

“You will,” Bucky said, darkly.

Then he just stood there. Steve stared politely at him.

“What?” Bucky asked.

“I don’t know, I’m waiting for you to vanish in a puff of smoke or something. I thought you were making a dramatic exit.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

“And you obviously can’t hurt me until I agree to something.” Steve smiled broadly at him. It wasn’t often that he got this kind of opportunity. “So I’m gonna say it again: fuck you, and thanks but no thanks.”

Bucky let out an exclamation of dismay. “Dude, let’s be real here. Your life _sucks._ So tell me what you want and let’s get this over with!”

“It’s true, I’m unhappy.” It was strangely easy to admit it. One way or another, Bucky wasn’t a real person, and that made the confession easier. “I’m still not going to sell my soul.”

Bucky took a step closer.

Steve’s shoulders tensed up at once. Bucky was a good head taller, and almost twice as broad. From up close, a dim red light could be seen through his dark glasses.

“Yes,” he said again, quietly. “You will.”

Then he turned away, went to open a window, and climbed over the sill. Sitting there with his legs dangling out, he looked over his shoulder to shoot another cocky smirk at Steve.

“Puff of smoke,” he said.

Then he jumped out; but the second his entire body left the building, he simply vanished like a mirage.

Steve stood there for ten long minutes, staring at the rectangle of cloudless hot sky.

Then he started mopping the floors again.

With every swipe, the reality of what had just happened was beginning to fade. A bad dream. A vision, born from too much heat. But Steve wasn’t sure he wanted this to be a hallucination. In fact, the thought made his hands shake. He’d rather doubt the world than his own mind.

 

*

 

Steve couldn’t sleep—he was too hot even after stripping down to his boxers—and it worried him for a different reason than usual.

But it was stupid to fear Bucky appearing in his home. First of all, he probably needed an invitation and all that jazz. Second of all, he’d appeared in bright daylight the second time, so night time was nothing special to him. And third of all, he probably wasn’t _real._

With a sigh, Steve reopened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. _Think about what you want._

There were a lot of things Steve wanted. Not to be so skinny and weak. Not to have failed his degree because of his shitty health. Not to be working a dead-end job instead of being an artist like he’d wanted. Not to be so completely alone.

But it was no use wishing for any of this. If there was such a thing as souls, then his own was all he had. And why would anyone sign up for eternal torment after a short burst of satisfaction, anyway? The whole thing was dumb as hell.

Heh. Dumb as _hell._ Steve snorted to himself in the dark.

“What’s so funny?”

Steve all but leaped out of bed. Breathless, he looked around, but Bucky was nowhere to be seen. A movement caught his eye; it was just his own pale shape in the mirror.

Then Bucky stepped right behind him and put a hand on his shoulder, eyes burning in the dark _._ “Boo.”

Steve shrieked and spun round to punch him right in the nose. Bucky staggered back and fell sitting on the bed.

“Ow!” he said, holding his face. “What the fuck, dude?”

“That’s my line!” Steve shouted. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You scared the shit out of me!”

“It was just a joke,” Bucky said in a nasal voice, holding his head back and pinching his nose. “You said it yourself, I can’t do anything to you.”

“This is _my room,”_ Steve said angrily, humiliated to feel himself welling up. “And I didn’t give you permission to be here. Especially not when I’m trying to get some rest—”

His voice cracked on the last word. Bucky stopped hanging his head back to stare at him. His eyes were just burning embers.

“I didn’t think it would freak you out that much.”

“Oh, really?” Steve said, still fighting back tears of rage. “Then you weren’t thinking at all.”

“I _was_ trying to scare you,” Bucky admitted. “I guess I thought it would be funnier.”

Steve shook his head and sat on the bed next to him, before his legs could give out. He took a few deep breaths. “You’re not even bleeding,” he mumbled resentfully.

“Oh, you got me square in,” Bucky reassured him, feeling his nose again. “But apparently you can’t hurt me either.”

“You didn’t know that?”

“Nobody ever decked me before.” Bucky smiled. “You’re kinda crazy, you know that?”

Steve’s cheeks colored a little, for some unfathomable reason. He finished catching his breath, then considered. Well, he was definitely awake, and his own hand hurt a little from clipping Bucky. So the guy was real. Maybe.

“I didn’t give you permission to be here,” Steve repeated. “So how did you get in?”

“Please. I’m not a vampire.” Bucky smiled. “There _is_ a trick to it, though. Just not that one.”

“What is it?”

“I’ll trade ya. My answer for your soul. How’s that sound?”

Steve just gave him a flat stare, which made him laugh.

“Alright, alright. You already know the first part—I need your name so I can track you. But here’s the big secret: I can only manifest in liminal spaces. Places where you’re not to supposed to be, or linger too long.”

A 24/7 grocery store at four am, a deserted high school crushed in the summer heat, and a bedroom when you can’t sleep. Steve guessed it made some weird sort of sense, when you thought about ghost stories.

“But then—where do you go otherwise?” he asked. “Like when you jumped out that window?”

Bucky waved a hand. “That’s enough about me. What about you, Stevie? Found your wish yet?”

“I’m serious. I won’t ever do it.” Steve stood up and went to put on a shirt. He wasn’t going back to sleep anyway. “So you should probably move on.”

Bucky gave an easy shrug. “Nah, I think I’ll hang around you some more. Who knows.”

Steve huffed through his nose. “Well, right now I’m gonna watch some Netflix using my cheating ex Arnie’s password. That liminal enough for you?”

Bucky grinned. “Sounds right up my alley.”

 

*

 

Steve wasn’t sure why he’d invited Bucky to watch a show with him instead of making him leave. He was tired and he couldn’t really think straight. But in the end, he didn’t regret it. Bucky was happy to watch the stupidest things, and his snark at the characters even had Steve smiling from time to time. The glowing red eyes weren’t that disturbing after a while. Or maybe he really was that exhausted.

A grey, cloudy dawn was rising at last. Steve yawned, then found himself thinking he’d have to get off his ass soon. He tried to get to work on time, even when nobody was there to see it. The second he started to plan out his day in his mind, Bucky let out a strange noise.

Steve looked at him. “Bucky?”

“It’s okay.” Bucky put his sunglasses back on. His hand was translucent; the pale light flowed right through it. “Guess the liminality’s wearing off.”

“Oh.” Steve wasn’t sure what to say. “Well. Thanks for the company?”

 _“I’ll be back,”_ Bucky said, doing a horrible impression of the Terminator. Then he grinned. “Seriously, though, I’ll be back.”

“There’s really no point.”

“We’ll see.”

Then he vanished like a flame.

Steve looked at the screen. He had time for another episode of something, but it seemed flavorless now. He turned off his small TV and headed for the shower.

 

*

 

Bucky didn’t manifest again for a week, but when Steve got hired in a pinch to clean a house after its owner’s death, well—he went in expecting to find a demon around the corner.

And he wasn’t wrong.

“Just look at that.” Ever since they’d gone up to the attic, Bucky couldn’t stop digging through the cardboard boxes. “This guy had so much cool stuff! And he just left it there gathering dust!”

“Yeah, speaking of dust, can you stop stirring it up?” Steve protested. “I’m trying to clean up. And someone died, you should have some respect.”

“Hey, I’m a demon, bud,” Bucky said, unconcerned. “Oh, man, Flash Gordon! I loved those comics! I read them in the papers all the time!”

Steve blinked. “Didn’t they run in the thirties?”

“Well,” Bucky shrugged, “so did I.”

Steve put down his rag.

“You were human before?”

Bucky’s red eyes flicked up, which made Steve tense. He had been right the last time; he’d just been too exhausted to be afraid enough. But he wasn’t used to them, not really.

“Yeah, I was,” Bucky answered after a beat.

Steve sat next to him on the dusty floor. “In the thirties,” he repeated. “Wow. What happened?”

Bucky’s shoulders tightened. Obviously, he didn’t appreciate this line of questioning. But he must have sensed that Steve wouldn’t let up, because he dropped the old comics and ran a hand through his neatly coiffed hair.

“What do you think? I sold my soul.”

_“Really?”_

“Yeah,” Bucky repeated, leaning back on his hands. “See what happens after? Not so bad, eh? Better than your job, anyway.”

Only a week ago, Steve would have risen to the bait, but he could tell that Bucky was deflecting. His curiosity grew.

“Why did you sell it?”

Bucky let his head hang back, stretching his neck like he was sitting in the sun. “Ah, dumb reason. No use talking about it.”

“C’mon. You’ve been trying to get me to sell mine. Why not share the story? I might relate.”

Bucky sat up straight again, with a snorting laugh. “Pal, I really doubt it.”

“I want to hear it,” Steve insisted.

Bucky stared at him for a second. Then he smirked. “Trade ya?”

Steve groaned. “You tried that one the last time.”

“You’re the one that keeps asking about me.”

“You’re not so interesting that I’ll sell my soul for it.”

Bucky perked up. “But I am a _little_ bit interesting. Right?” He brought his legs under him and got on all fours, coming closer to Steve. “In more ways than one, maybe.”

Steve blinked. “I—what?”

“C’mon, you’re such a demon connoisseur, you get what I’m talking about.” Bucky was too close. “It’s what people want the most from me.”

“I don’t,” Steve said, and it was true. Sure, he liked men, and Bucky knew that—Steve shouldn’t have let Arnie’s name slip so easily last time—but Bucky also had _burning red eyes._

As if he’d heard that thought, Bucky closed them.

He looked—incredibly different that way. Steve could look at him, really look at him, past his otherworldly nature. He had full lips, great bone structure and amazing hair. But mostly he looked _kind._ Like someone you’d want to be friends with. There was something self-deprecating in his smile, like he knew how he looked most of the time, and how he looked now.

“Bucky,” Steve said quietly.

He waited long enough for him to open his eyes again. He was so close Steve could see tiny golden flecks in the vacant red depths.

“I’m not gonna sleep with you, Bucky.”

Bucky looked down. Then he smiled and pulled back like it was no big deal. “Eh,” he said. “Worth a try.”

“Would that have meant automatic damnation?” Steve asked, trying to speak as if his heart wasn’t hammering in his chest.

“Nah, I need your explicit agreement for that. The whole contract part in Faust is pretty spot-on—you can’t _trick_ someone into selling their eternal soul.”

“Well, it’s good to know that demons are big on consent.”

“Makes my job harder,” Bucky shrugged. “But also easier, in a way. More clear-cut, you know?”

Steve was still not over what had just happened. God, it was all he could think about now. And he could still say yes. He hadn’t gotten this close to anyone in so long. He could say yes and Bucky would tangle with him right there, right now, on the dusty floorboards, in the attic of the dead.

Steve picked up his rag. “I’m gonna finish up with those shelves.”

 

*

 

Another week went by, without Bucky. Then another. Steve was done cleaning up Lehigh—it wasn’t that big, and mopping up floors didn’t take that long—and since the heat was less crushing, he slept better at night. His agency kept assigning him desperately normal jobs. Steve even made a total fool of himself by asking for something _weirder._ Now he was the weirdo. Nice going, Rogers.

Then he realized he didn’t have to wait for his job to send him into a liminal space: he could just go and find one on his free time.

Well, he still wasn’t gonna do it. Was he? Demons were _real._ One of them had latched onto him and was actively trying to take his soul. Shouldn’t it bother him more?

But the thing was—Steve felt safe. He knew his life was shitty, and he also knew damning himself would not help him in the end. Nothing Bucky could say would sway him. So why not seek him out? It was the most interesting thing that had happened to Steve in years, after all.

He hadn’t drawn ever since he’d failed his degree. He didn’t have the energy for it, didn’t have hope anymore that it would turn into anything. And yet now his fingers were itching for a pencil; he wanted to draw Bucky’s face when he had closed his eyes, how human he’d looked.

On Friday, Steve turned on the computer in his client’s house and looked up abandoned places near New Jersey. The Atlantic City Race Course seemed perfect; it was in disrepair since 2015 only, so there wouldn’t be any tourists, and the creepy feeling that opened Bucky’s doors to the world would certainly be in full force.

It wasn’t like Steve had any other plans for the weekend.

 

*

 

He got up early on Saturday, spent a few bucks on his train ticket, and headed for Atlantic City. Even if Bucky didn’t show up, it felt good to get away, and Steve’s heart got lighter with every mile.

He had to walk quite a bit along the road to get to the race track; but when he did, he was pleased with the place. It was absolutely unsettling. The walls were sheet metal, slightly shaking in the wind. When he peeked inside, he found old Formica phones—the kind you could actually hang up—and moldy paperbacks.

He walked around the building to get to the tracks. There had been concerts here during the Summer of Love, but Bucky wouldn’t know, probably. If he’d been a boy in the thirties, then he must have died in the forties; assuming his looks had frozen in time, he hadn’t been more than twenty-five when he’d passed away.

Steve wondered again what had happened, and what could have been so important to Bucky that he would sell his soul for it.

When he went back into the empty building, something moved at the edge of his sight. Steve turned, ready to say hello—

But it wasn’t Bucky.

“Hi there.” The guy stepped closer. He had hollow cheeks and fever-bright eyes. “Say, you wouldn’t have a dollar? S’for a good cause.”

Steve took a step back. He’d been so obsessed with finding Bucky he hadn’t thought of the people he might find in derelict places.

He was very far from the road, and there was nobody else around.

“Sorry, I don’t,” he said. “I’m gonna head back now.”

“See,” the guy said, and suddenly he grabbed Steve at the collar, “this is what _gets_ me. These guys just showing up on their little weekend trip and spitting in your face when you ask them for _one damned dollar.”_

“Look—can you just let go—”

“I asked fucking _nicely,”_ the guy went on, “and you just don’t want to be nice to me. Then I’m not gonna be nice to you. And what’re you even here for, huh? If you’re gonna be a complete waste of space, what the fuck are you doing here at all?”

“Let _go,”_ Steve said, shoving him. It didn’t work, but this time Steve was pretty sure he was gonna get beaten up—or worse—probably worse, judging by the way this guy was shaking and how he was ranting at him—but he couldn’t get away, and he wanted to go down fighting. “Just leave me alone!”

“Fucking pisswater stain like you,” said the guy. His voice was strained, but controlled, which was what scared Steve more than anything. “You ever scream one day in your life? Scream for real?”

He started twisting Steve’s arm with slow, terrifying intent. Steve couldn’t do anything, just struggle uselessly, the guy was so much stronger—oh God, he was going to break Steve’s arm, he _wanted_ to break Steve’ s arm—it hurt so bad but he mustn’t scream, he _mustn’t_ scream—

“You don’t wanna? How about _now,”_ the guy growled, shoving up so that Steve’s shoulder nearly came out of its socket, “ _scream,_ bitch, I wanna fucking hear it—”

Then Steve was thrown to the side, landed hard, losing all of his air at once. He gasped like a fish for a second, managed to take a breath, and struggled back to turn on his stomach so he could look up.

Bucky was standing there, sunglasses in hand. His eyes burned so bright they cast red shadows on the wall.

 _“I HAVE LIVED IN YOUR NIGHTMARES,”_ he roared with a hundred discordant voices in unison, _“I WAS BORN FROM YOUR SINS.”_

Steve’s attacker stepped backwards, tripped, fell down, and tried to get away on all fours. A dark stain was spreading on his pants.

 _“THE BEAST COMES,”_ Bucky went on, walking irresistibly forward, like he was carried by a great wave. _“THE BEAST IS THERE!”_

The guy finally managed to get up, almost fell back again, arms raised in horror.

 _“YOUR SKIN SHALL BE FLAYED FROM YOUR ROTTING BONES,”_ said the multiple voices coming out of Bucky’s throat. _“YOUR FLESH SHALL BE FED TO YOUR TOOTHLESS MOUTH!”_

This time, then man spun round and ran away as fast as his legs could carry him.

Bucky stood stock still for a few seconds. Something electric seemed to drain from the atmosphere around him.

From the back, he looked normal, just a guy in baggy shorts and a green t-shirt. He put his sunglasses on, rubbed the back of his neck for a second, then turned around.

“Steve,” he said, his voice back to what it had always been. “Are you okay?”

Steve was shaking like a leaf in the wind.

“What—what did you do to—”

“Nothing.” Bucky smiled lopsidedly, coming closer. “You know I can’t hurt people. But I can scare the shit out of them.”

He held out his hand.

It was that gesture which helped Steve get over his own terror: the fact that Bucky wasn’t even leaning down to help him up, as if Steve had just been a little startled and could get back to his feet on his own. Maybe he was also letting Steve choose whether he wanted to let Bucky come so close. Steve couldn’t know; Bucky’s eyes were obscured behind his sunglasses, his expression completely unreadable.

Steve took a deep breath, swallowed, and grabbed Bucky’s hand.

Bucky pulled him to his feet with a small smile Steve had never seen on his face. It was the first time they touched, if you didn’t count that punch.

“What were those things you said?” Steve asked. He found he couldn’t let go of Bucky’s hand, now, clutching it white-knuckled.

“Total improv. Pretty good, huh?”

Steve laughed shakily.

“What are you doing here, Stevie?” Bucky asked after a glance around. “Kind of a shifty place.”

“I was—” Steve swallowed again. “I was trying to see you. It’s been two weeks.”

Bucky said nothing. His face seemed set in stone again.

Then his usual grin came back, more strained than usual. “That was real stupid of you. I’m a _demon._ You shouldn’t seek me out for myself—I’m just a vessel.”

“I think you just saved my life,” Steve pointed out.

“Well, I had to. Can’t let you die and take your soul with ya.”

Steve stared into the blind depths of his sunglasses. “Yeah? That why you did it?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Bucky worked his hand free from Steve’s tight grip. “Suit yourself.”

Steve took another breath, less shaky, yet not steady still. He could feel shock echoing in his body.

“I should… I should probably get back to the train station.”

“I won’t be able to walk you all the way back there,” Bucky said with a crease between his eyebrows.

“It’s okay.”

They walked back to the road together, Bucky getting more and more translucent with each step. He kept shooting glances at Steve.

“How’s your arm?”

“Just sore. I’m fine, Bucky.”

Bucky appeared to remember he was a big bad demon and shut up. When Steve looked up to talk to him a minute later, he was gone.

 

*

 

Of course Steve couldn’t sleep that night. His afternoon had left him badly shaken. But it didn’t really bother him. He was waiting.

Bucky manifested around 1am.

“Hi,” Steve said with a wan smile.

Bucky frowned. “Glad to see you didn’t go to an old warehouse just to see my ugly mug.”

“No need, I had a feeling we’d cross roads again tonight.” Steve got out of bed. He needed to take his mind off the race track building. “Do you know you didn’t even try to take my soul earlier?”

“Musta been distracted.” Bucky couldn’t help smiling.

“Hey, you wanna… you wanna watch something?”

He shrugged. “If we’re not gonna do business, might as well pass the time.”

 

*

 

This time, they went on HBO Go. Steve’s shitty ex must have been watching war movies, because suggestions kept popping up on the screen while they mainlined Veep. Bucky was smiling at the right places, but he was otherwise sitting very straight on the couch, and he was still wearing his sunglasses. When yet another _Band of Brothers_ ad rose from the bottom of the screen, his lips tightened.

Steve paused the episode. Bucky turned his head to look at him, in wordless questioning.

After a moment of hesitation, Steve reached out and took off his sunglasses. Bucky let him, staying very still. His burning ember eyes didn’t scare Steve anymore. He’d gotten used to them, in the end.

“Can you tell me what happened to you?” he asked.

Bucky sighed, like he’d seen it coming. Then he tried for a smile. “Still won’t get your soul for it, huh?”

“Afraid not.”

“It’s a shitty story, Steve.”

“I want to hear it.” Steve folded the glasses and put them in Bucky’s lap. Bucky exhaled again and finally settled down more comfortably on the couch, with his back to the arm rest.

“I was born in 1917 in Brooklyn,” he said. “And, well, you know what happened just as I came of age for it.” He shot a humorless smile at the _Band of Brothers_ ad on the screen. “Lucky me.”

“Did you enlist?”

“No. I was drafted.” Bucky looked down. “And I went to boot camp, and then I went to war, and the same thing happened to me that happened to most of us poor schmucks. I got blown up.”

He rubbed his left arm, seemingly without thinking.

“I lost my arm. Gone from the shoulder. It didn’t even hurt. I just looked at it and it wasn’t there.”

Steve said nothing. Bucky was silent for a few seconds, then took a breath. “And I was so scared and so cold, and the pain was starting to come, and I knew I was gonna die. And that’s when this guy with glowing red eyes showed up.”

“Oh—Bucky—”

“I told you it was a shitty story.” Bucky twisted his lips but didn’t manage to smile. “His name was Pierce. Though of course it can’t have been his real name. But that doesn’t matter.”

He shifted on the couch.

“And so he leans to look at me, down in that muddy hole, and he goes, _what do you want?_ And I understood exactly what he meant, you know. Or maybe he explained it to me before. I don’t remember it very well. _What do you want?_ And I wasn’t thinking about my immortal soul or what was gonna happen afterwards. I just didn’t wanna die.”

He drew his knees up. “I could’ve asked for anything—for the war to stop, or for me to go back home. Anything at all. And do you know what I fucking asked for?”

Steve shook his head, without a word.

Bucky did manage to grin this time, but it wasn’t pleasant to watch. “I asked for my arm back. That’s literally all I could think of. Can you believe that? It just came out. _Please, can I have my arm back.”_

He gave a derisive wave with his left hand.

“And, see? I’m not bullshitting you. We do grant wishes.”

There was a silence. Steve almost didn’t dare speak. “And—what happened next?”

“I died anyway.”

_“What?”_

“I’d lost too much blood and I was stuck in this freezing hole. They didn’t find me in time, and I died.” He shrugged. “And that’s the story of how I went to hell.”

Steve was speechless.

“It’s real dumb, isn’t it?” Bucky said. “I thought if I was gonna be damned, it’d be because of the whole queer thing. But no, turns out you have to sign up for it. If I’d known, I woulda gone to fairy bars more often.”

“Did—” Steve’s voice was a wisp of sound. “Did you ever see him again?”

“Who?” Bucky blinked. “Oh, Pierce? Nah. Demons chase each other like magnets, you can’t have two in the same space.” His lips ticked up. “I almost admire the guy, in a way. He definitely had the right idea, hanging around a battlefield. Must’ve harvested hundreds of us.”

“But—it’s not _fair,”_ Steve said, aghast. “None of it was fair!”

Bucky looked at him with his empty glowing eyes. “Fairness doesn’t come into it,” he said. “Only unlucky people need us. That’s how it works.”

“But why do _you_ do it?” Steve exclaimed. “Trying to get people to become like you—why?”

Bucky smiled, though it mostly looked weary. “That I can’t say. Unless it’s your wish.”

“Bucky—”

“It’s not a joke. Not this time. I genuinely can’t tell you, unless you’re ready to trade your soul for it.” He seemed very tired now. “And I don’t think you are.”

He got up.

“Maybe you should try to get some sleep, Steve.”

Before Steve could think of anything to say, Bucky got up and walked out, putting his sunglasses back on. The sound of his steps faded down the stairs, until it vanished all at once.

 

*

 

Bucky didn’t show up the next day. Or the next week.

Or the week after that.

Eventually, Steve started to wonder whether Bucky had understood he was never going to get anything out of him, and moved on to another target. He would have been right to do it. When he looked inside himself, Steve remained certain he could never be swayed into selling his soul. But all the same, he missed him horribly.

When had they become friends? They’d only met a handful of times. And Bucky had always made it clear that he was there for business, and nothing else. And yet here Steve was, pining for him, asking himself if maybe he’d imagined him after all, because he was so lonely.

September came around, and Steve got hired to mop the floors in the empty summer camps, now that the students had gone back to school. He went with hope in his heart; but this time he wasn’t the only janitor there, and the building was alive with disgusting normalcy. It was no place for a demon.

At night, when he got back home, Steve sought the empty train cars. But maybe the atmosphere wasn’t quite right, or maybe Bucky really had given up on him. Either way, he wasn’t there.

Steve wondered if he was going to spend the rest of his life looking for him.

 

*

 

“Steve?”

Steve mumbled and turned on his side. Someone was softly shaking his shoulder. “Steve, wake up.”

Awareness came to him all at once and he sat up straight. Bucky took a step back, eyes glowing in the dark. “Sorry—sorry, didn’t mean to scare you—”

“You’re back!” Steve scrambled out of bed to throw his arms around him.

For a second, he thought Bucky didn’t want to be hugged; but he must have been just surprised, because he gave in a second later, holding Steve close with a soundless exhale.

It lasted for a precious few seconds, then Bucky gently pushed him back.

“This is the last time,” he said. “The last time I’m here.”

“What? Why—”

“Steve.” Bucky looked miserable. “Will you give me your soul?”

Steve shook his head, throat tight.

“No, Bucky. You… you know I can’t.”

“I know.” Something in Bucky visibly relaxed. “Good. That’s good.”

“It is?”

“Yeah.” Bucky smiled. “I don’t wanna take your soul, Steve. And you should never give it to me. Or anyone.”

A shockwave pulsed through his body; he winced and began to lose his substance.

“What’s happening?” Steve said, panicked. “Bucky?”

“Nothing.” Bucky’s face was twisted in pain. “I’m not supposed to tell you this.”

“Tell me what?”

“God, you’re slow tonight. Or maybe just sleepy.” Bucky smiled, not his demon grin, but a soft human smile. “Guess that’s my fault.”

“Bucky—” Steve tried to grab his wrists, but he was ethereal already. “Bucky, please, I don’t want you to go! I don’t understand what’s happening!”

“I’m a demon,” Bucky said. “My function is to hunt people. And I do it—because do you know what happens when I don’t?”

Steve shook his head, eyes wide.

“Nothing.” Bucky smiled. “Nothing, forever. I’m just trapped in this empty void where I can’t even feel my body. I guess that’s hell.”

He exhaled. “And that’s why we hunt you. Because as long as we have a target, we’re allowed to exist just a little bit, just on the edges of the world, where there’s nothing much to disturb.”

Steve tried again to get a hold of him, but it was no use.

“And I’m going against my function,” Bucky said, strained, as if he had to make an effort to stay in one piece, “by telling you this. By telling you the truth about what happens afterwards. I should be telling you that it’s not so bad, that it’s worth it—but it’s not. It’s not. Don’t ever do it.”

He was almost invisible now, just the shape of him standing in the room; but his smile was still visible, like he was the Cheshire cat.

“You’re the only one who asked about me in almost a hundred years. I can’t tell you how nice it felt. It’s a lonely life, being a demon.” His expression turned into a grin. “Maybe even lonelier than yours, and that’s saying something, right?”

“You fucking _jerk,”_ Steve said, choking up. “Come back so I can punch you in the nose again—Bucky, _please—”_

“I can’t,” Bucky exhaled. Even his voice was getting faint and distant now. “But that’s alright. I’ll manifest near a new target soon. Hopefully. Try to live your life, okay, Stevie? You still have so much of it.”

“Bucky—no, Bucky—Bucky, I’ll—” and then determination flooded Steve all at once, “I’ll do it!”

Just before the irreparable happened, just before Bucky vanished into limbo completely, he froze. His glowing eyes stared at Steve.

“What?”

“I have a wish,” Steve said, his blood beating in his ears, “I want to sell my soul.”

 _“No,”_ Bucky said, but he was regaining his substance already.

“Yes.” Steve was breathless, but he could hold onto Bucky now. He did, gripping him tight, pulling him close. “And do you know what I want?”

“I don’t wanna hear it!” Bucky said, panicked now. “You can’t, you _can’t—”_

“I want yours.”

Bucky went completely still.

“I want your soul,” Steve repeated in the deep, supernatural silence that had suddenly enveloped his apartment. “And I’ll give you mine for it.”

Bucky opened his mouth, but he couldn’t speak. He was prey to something that went deeper and further than him, something that was in the room with them, like the beating of huge, invisible wings, or the twisting of a thousand serpents. He scowled and screwed his eyes shut, unconsciously reached for Steve who wrapped him in his arms at once, holding tight, as tight as Bucky did, while it all writhed through them both, and then—

Whatever energy had flooded the place just blasted out of the room, leaving them both reeling and holding onto each other. Steve was just amazed to still be here, but Bucky was breathing in great gasping sobs, desperately clutching at him.

“Bucky—”

“No.” Bucky held him even tighter. “No, I can’t let you go—if I let go, you’ll—”

“Bucky. Bucky, look at me.”

He did, eventually, pulling back just enough for Steve to look at him, at his confused expression, his cheeks wet with tears. His eyes were wide open.

They were also a very normal grey.

They stared at each other for a while. Bucky was still violently shaking. Steve could feel his heartbeat against his own chest.

“I—” Bucky said eventually, confused, almost fearful. “No. I don’t understand. This isn’t possible. This was forever.”

He looked around, then at Steve’s face, like he must have all the answers. “I don’t understand,” he repeated. “What… what happens now? When you die? When I—” He had to stop and gather himself before getting the words out, “when I die again?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said, tearing up with relief. What he’d just done was so huge he couldn’t comprehend it yet. “Guess we’ll find out at the end of the line.”

He wiped his face, then laughed.

“But hey, I’m pretty sure we’ll be together for whatever it is. We belong to each other after all.”

Bucky’s face crumpled like he was going to start sobbing again.

“What?” Steve asked, smiling. “Can’t believe you got saddled with a pathetic little janitor? I know that’s—”

Bucky kissed him all at once, hot and wet and tasting of tears. Steve let out a shaky breath and held him, felt the solidity of his body against his own. He was there. He was free. Faust could suck it. Steve was pretty sure he’d never regret his bargain.

 

 

 

_"Boo."_

_-_  Bucky, about to get punched in the face

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> (I hope it was obvious that this Bucky is basically Lance Tucker from the Bronze.) 
> 
> Leave me a comment :D and you might win a free ticket to Hell™ for a chance to whoop Alexander Pierce's ass. Also, here is the [MASTERPOST](https://capreversebb.tumblr.com/post/162589395466/title-since-that-encounter-author-nonymos) for the Tumblr crowd. ^^


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